To Live and Love In L.A.

by Ben Peller

  Heavens, I thought, this woman may be nuts. But then, people have accused me of being off my rocker as well, and it wasn’t a wholly unreasonable concept that all of nature, including grains of sand, may be alive enough to at least grasp some sense of their own place in the scheme of things. Furthermore, Nicki’s warm hand on my crotch had me aroused to a state where never forgetting this moment seemed like a pleasant enough idea.

  Nicki ended up spending the night at my apartment. We shared stories, shared touches, and finally shared orgasms. She awoke in the morning crying.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “That’s the first night…” she whimpered.

  Here comes the morning-after tribulation, I sighed inwardly. This had been the first night she’d ever been intimate with some guy she’d just met only hours prior. I’d be accused of being a West Coast Casanova who roamed Los Angeles seducing women and bringing them back to my lair for sexual liberation.

  “I didn’t mean to…” I offered.

  She launched at me and I held my hands up to ward off a flurry of blows. But all she did was embrace me and whisper into my ear, “That was the first time I’ve ever fallen asleep and woken up in a man’s arms.”

  I was a bit stunned. According to what she’d told me the night before, this woman was thirty-one years old, and had been married for four of those years. True, she had no children with her ex. But surely there must’ve been some kind of intimacy, at least during the honeymoon years.

  When I proposed this she snorted. “Honeymoon years. More like honeymoon minutes. All he cared about was getting off, and then he’d either go watch ESPN or roll over and go to sleep.”

  “So you weren’t really happy in your marriage?” I asked, not sure how far to tread.

  “After eight months I would’ve rather had to clean up vomit than sleep with him.”

  “Eight months? But you were married for four years,” I said. “Why didn’t you leave him sooner?”

  “It was my mission to help him,” she explained. “You see, I’ve been put on this earth to help people. He was one of my disciples.”

  Disciple is not a word to be thrown around loosely, and it’s pretty much a given that most if not all who use this word in relation to themselves either have massive illusions of their own importance, persecution, or are just out and out psychotic.

  Nonetheless, Nicki seemed at the very least a charming psychotic. I offered to take her to breakfast. As we enjoyed a meal of scrambled eggs, bacon, and biscuits and gravy, she spoke on about how the first time she’d known it was her mission to touch the souls of people and show everyone “how the kingdom worked” was when a frog spoke to her outside her aunt’s house back in North Carolina.

  “One of God’s creatures transcending the specificity of human language, right?” I joked, smiling as I dipped a biscuit into my eggs and gravy.

  “Exactly!” she cried. “My God, you are enlightened. So many human beings just can’t break free from themselves and how they judge their own place in the grand design. Frogs can communicate as well as human beings, right? Why can’t a human being and another animal… a frog, a dolphin, a horse or a dog, have a meaningful relationship and talk to one another? Why can’t they kiss? Why can’t they have sex and unite the animal kingdom?”

  I gagged on my forkful of food, and with a wavering glance saw from Nicki’s intent look that she wasn’t making a joke; she was serious. It was then I thought it might be wise to put a little distance between myself and this particular animal kingdom inhabitant as soon as possible.

  So after breakfast we drove back to my place, and she claimed she had to go to the bathroom. After she came out I was already busy logging on to the social networking website that had led me to the previous night’s beach party, hoping to discontinue my membership.

  “So…” she said. “What now?”

  I clicked the site off. “I should really do some work. Writing, you know…”

  “Oh,” she nodded gravely. “I know.”

  “Great,” I nodded back, having no idea what the hell she seemed so certain about. “So I guess I’ll see you later. It was really cool to meet you—“

  She was already shaking her head. “Nope,” she said. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re one of them.”

  “One of what?”

  “My disciples, silly.”

  The ease with which this proclamation came knocked the wind out of me. Though we were in my apartment, it felt like Nicki had suddenly taken over, as if just by declaring me her follower made it so. My mind began to wander to disturbing thoughts: chants of worship as horrible music played in the background while I drove a knife across the flesh of my forearm so as to let blood leak into her waiting mouth…

  “I’m not going to bleed for you!” I shouted.

  She gave me a quizzical look. “What the heck are you talking about? I just want to hang out with you for the day. And…” she ran her fingers over my forearm and then transferred her touch to my thigh and wound up on my crotch. At least she didn’t have a knife in hand. “Talk,” she made the act sound mercilessly sensuous. She did have that gift, one I’d learned during a brief run as a phone sex operator, for infusing words with levels of meanings that eventually wound their way down to sex.

  Perhaps, I considered, I’d been overreacting. Nonetheless I was pretty certain that at least one of us was slightly insane. Given the very real possibility both of us were, it seemed best to nip this in the bud.

  “I’ll call you this afternoon, I swear,” I lied uneasily, telling myself I was being strong for both of us.

  After many more minutes of haggling, she finally agreed to go. I walked her to her car, and as she drove off I waved goodbye and looked forward to getting back to my solitude.

  From where I’d bid Nicki goodbye to my building’s lobby was a three minute walk. I stopped to check my mail. Another minute. Another minute later I was back in the shelter of my apartment.

  In this space of five minutes three messages had materialized on my answering machine. I hit the MESSAGE button.

  “Just thinking about you. You’re wondrous.” Click.

  “You and I could take over the world together, Shawn Michals.” Click.

  “There’s a song on the radio right now and it makes me think of you filling me with your essence.” Then came heavy breathing that grew even heavier, and finally cries out to God and then a long slow moan, and then… click.

  I admit I pleasured myself to that last call, especially being that the song playing in the background was Sir Mix-a-Lot’s “Baby Got Back.”

  I strapped on my headphones and set to work on my latest immortal novel that, after having completed three other immortal novels which remained unpublished, I’d begun to accept would most likely not be discovered until shortly after my passing.

  As the sun grew dim outside my window I stopped typing and pulled off my headphones. I rose and glanced over at the answering machine and was startled to find the indicator flashing nine new messages at me.

  Being one that doesn’t have very many, if any friends, I wasn’t used to anything more than a few scattered calls from debt collection agencies. I hit the button. It was Nicki professing her love for me was as large as a deep pool. The next was Nicki professing her love for me was as large as an ocean. The next was Nicki professing her love for me was as large as an endless ocean. By the eighth message she’d incorporated the solar system into the equation.

  The ninth message was from, mercifully, a debt collection agency.

  The phone rang again and I jerked up the receiver. “Hello?” I asked.

  “Shawn, you and I could rule the heavens together!” Nicki shouted. “And why the hell haven’t you called me like you said you would?”

  “I’ve been writing,” I said, surprised to find my voice was shaking. This woman frightened me. “Look, I don’t think we should necessarily see each other any more.”

  “What?” she yelled. “After all we’ve be
en through?”

  “We spent one night together.”

  “It was an eternity to me,” she replied. “Time is flexible. What seems like a night can be eternal.”

  By this point I was pretty certain that though I might’ve been slightly insane, this woman had graduated to potentially certifiable status. “Nicki,” I said. “Please don’t call me anymore. I think it best if we don’t see each other again. Ever.”

  Now her heavy breathing was definitely not sexy. More like psychotic. “You’re gonna be sorry you ever met me, Shawn Michals!” she screamed, and the phone was hammered down.

  I didn’t sleep well that night.

  The following days consisted of me skulking in and out of my apartment, looking every which way. After all, Nicki knew where I lived. But she never materialized, except for on my answering machine. When after two days I finally got caller I.D. and stopped answering my phone randomly, she took to emailing me. What follows is a record of these emails. All spelling and grammatical errors have been preserved as written. Even rambling emails, though maybe not qualifying as literature, deserve respect and should be presented in the form their author intended. In addition to these emails I’ve added my commentary (in parenthesis) directly below some of them to speculate on what Nicki may or may not have been thinking when she’d been typing them out. Warning: this could happen to all of us.

  8/12/10 7:14 P.M.

  You are in really big trouble for not calling me this afternoon like you said you would – that kind of stuff is HUGE to me. I have a little soft heart that melts and gets all gooey gooey really easily. You should know that! That kind of offense is the type that makes me want to come and bend you over and violate you! I HATE YOU!

  8/12/10 9:43 P.M.

  When I said I hate you I really meant that I love you to pieces and SCHMIECES. I wish my love was enough to draw you out of your shell you old troll. LOVE, Nicki.

  (The above emails were in relation to when I didn’t call Nicki that first night. Apparently, leaving eight messages within four hours and veering from love to hate within three hours were normal practices for her. For me, they exhibited dangerous signs of a stalker.)

  8/13/10 11:50 A.M.

  You aren’t the only one who’s betrayed me. Maybe that’s why I identify metaphorically with saint figures. Love, safety, friendship, security, being CHERISHED. When people withhold those things from me it makes them feel great because this makes me react and whomever the abuser, the inflicter, the executer is receives the feeling of WHOLENESS I NATURALLY possess - until I am made stronger and the WHOLENESS is snatched back from them when the balance is returned to my side. This is why I said to you, ‘You will curse the day you met me, Shawn Michals!’ Because this always happens TO ME when it is LORDED OVER MY HEAD THAT MY HEART IS IN YOUR HANDS. By and By, the balance is restored and I am made stronger. Even those closest to me – family members included – want the worst for me and willingly act openly to make my world crumble and fall. But not YOU Shawn Michals, for I saw a lightness within you that understood being on the receiving end, being labeled, being termed ‘drunk’ by others, you have seen this more than many I’m quite certain! It is WE who have been CHOSEN and been to the valleys that have the opportunity to rise above.

  8/13/10 4:25 P/M.

  You’re such a fucking big prickwad, Shawn! You should be trying to protect your relationship with me, not your ego. You sucky SUCK! Nicki is awesome and amazing and you should be kneeling at her feet so she has a little love for your sorry ass. The hart and the vagina were yours to grasp but were too much for you to take! And what a fucking douche bag you are too. What a travesty I slept with your hard-cocked ass! I know you already hope to burn in hell so instead I hope you just wind up in a hot place where you sweat continuously and think about what a douche bag you are! I need(ed) YOU! YOU NEED ME TOO! I was your light. You were mine.

  (Always beware people who refer to themselves in the third person. As well as people who define having a sleepover one time after a beach party as a “relationship.” As far as having a “hard-cocked ass,” I’ll choose to take it as a compliment, even though it makes no real sense. That this email was sent at 4:25 in the afternoon leaves open the definite possibility that some “420” was involved in its construction.)

  8/14/10 5:23 P.M.

  HI BABAY! This is my daily dose of love for my Shawn Michals that is out there somewhere! O what beauty may you cast forth when you doth emerge metamorphosized!! YEA! SHAWN MICHALS! Thy hair does shine like fire it kindles my flame beneath where I sit! HOORAY! Please come back to me when you can. I WUV YOU! You are much more mature than I gave you credit for – one day I want to hear of where this maturity came from. We all regress sometimes and realize we aren’t as strong as we though and could use a good dicking and licking (from YOU and LIFE) Your lover 4ever, Nicki

  (Props to her for using Ye Olde English and pitching ‘metamorphosized’ as an actual word. However, use of the word ‘wuv’ for ‘love,’ while cute, is not necessarily the kind of affection one should be showing for a person one has known for less than a week.)

  8/14/10 8:37 P.M.

  WHY WON’T YOU ANSWER MY CALLS?! I KNOW you’re there, Shawn Michals! I see you through my heart’s eye. Sitting in your rocking chair, stinking DRUNK and ignoring the life you could be leading. We are a rare combination and together we could do things powerful and AWESOME. If you were as spiritually enlightened as me you would know your place is by my side and at my feet – licking my toes and then working your way up to my pussy! And another thing, you can’t keep being a alkie as an excuse to not become one with Nicki. I don’t even BELIEVE you’re an alcohic. Since when do acohiolics dilute their drinks 8:1 water to vodka? I thought alkies liked to gas it down for the greater effect.

  8/14/10 9:24 P.M.

  I just got back from the liquor store. I got a fifth of vodka and am gonna get drunk to be connected to you! And I’m not gonna be a little pussy who dilutes their drinks, I’m drinking mine STRAIGHT UP!

  8/14/10 1:23 A.M.

  UR so staackd. You turnzz me ooon! I am so hot 4 my boo yah beaz!!! YEAH!

  (This previous series of emails were symptomatic of a chaotic mind on several levels. First off, Nicki managed to misspell ‘alcoholic’ twice in two sentences. Also, if Nicki’s “heart’s eye” didn’t need glasses, she could’ve seen I wasn’t at home, but was out leading a life. I was out patrolling the neighborhood in search of a lost cat I’d seen on a poster tacked to a telephone pole down the block from where I lived. Not much of a life, but the cat resembled Georgette, to find her and bring her back to her family would be pretty cool way to spend a Tuesday night. At least for me. Back to Nicki. Her solution to “connect” with me by drinking herself into a stupor raises another red flag. On the plus side, I’ve been called a lot of things by a lot of different women, but never a “boo ya beaz.”)

  8/17/10 3:03 P.M.

  Shawn Michals, I want you to make yourself aware that your actions can affect other people tremendously – EVEN TO THE POINT OF DESTRUCTION.

  8/17/10 4:45 P.M.

  You should also see my new dating profile online at my blog, hownickimakestheworldwork.com, cause I’m about to get my f*&k on if you know what I mean. I’m gonna meet some meaty meaty men. WHOO HOO! I even ordered some flavored condoms. Hey I remember you had some flavored lube! Where do I get me some of that, cause I’m gonna need it for my future escapades! WHOO HOO! I can’t wait! I’m getting wet just thinking about all the men who are gonna DO NICKI DO NICKI DO NICKI!!

  (These emails were promising, being they suggested that she was ready to move on and get her, as she wrote, f*&k on. Go Nicki, go! No way was I going to tell her that the flavored lube had been a gift from an ex-girlfriend. Unfortunately, at this point I made a tactical error. In dealing with someone who emails you constantly and phones at least five times a day ((as Nicki had been doing)) it’s always best to ignore them. Once you answer the phone, you’ve once again reminded them that you e
xist, and this tends to renew their fervor. On the afternoon I received the previous two emails my friend Tom happened to be visiting and suggested that the next time she called he would reason with her. Sure enough, she called for the fourth time that day and I answered and handed the phone to Tom, introducing her as “Nicki, my stalker.” The following emails followed shortly.)

  8/17/10 7:34 P.M.

  HA, SHAWN MICHALS! I KNEW you wuvved me, too. We could be having so much fun right now if you’d only stop being a fucktard and get it together! If not for your own sake then for MINE! And don’t you ever say I’m your fuckiiong stalker again! There’s a new sheriff in town and it’s not Shawn Michals. Its Nicki *5. Oh and another fucking thing you fucking fuckwad YOU SUCK! Who is Shawn Michals? My bitch! And he will prove it when I am the one qho is whipping him in dom/sub play you fuckdoll. Eat my shit out of your hair and get a clue. Oh yah and what is Tom’s number again?????? FUCK SHAWN MICHALS FUCK SHAWM MICHALS FUCK HIM GODDAMNIT SHIT FUCKWAS BASTARD GO TO H-E DOUBLE HOCKEY STICKS. YEAH, BOY!!! YOU DEMON SEED!!!!

  8/17/10 9:12 P.M.

  I’m sorry, that was harsh, even for me. I’m just a ball of raging hormones.

  (Blaming an attack of profanity at me on raging hormones? I’ll be a sumbitch, who would’ve thought a beach party could lead to me having a one night love affair with a woman who is strangely similar to the one who hatched this demon seed?)

  8/18/10 4:50 P.M.

  Sweetie, if you keep blowing me off I’m ggoing to have no choice but to screw another man and I don’t want that anymore than I KNOW you do… but I’ve got to keep my female parts oiled up for when we are reunited…

  Shalom,

  Nicki

  8/18/10 5:55 P.M.

  IF I WERE YOU I WOULDN’T WANT TO SPEAK TO ME EITHER SEEING AS HOW I HEAP LIGHT UPON THE DISGUSTING DUNG YOU ARE!!! I am so way more than you bargained for. I am the witness of Shawn Michals’ behavior for the sake of all! When will you realize that Nicki is your GODDESS and come worship me like you should?